


come chase the night with me

by splatticus



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Camboy Willy, Dirty Talk, Exhibitionism, Light Angst, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Miscommunication, Sex Toys, Sex Work, Slut Shaming, Under-negotiated Kink, Voyeurism, Webcam/Video Chat Sex, Yes This Is About The Contract Thing, not an au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2019-11-14
Packaged: 2020-10-20 05:44:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20670296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/splatticus/pseuds/splatticus
Summary: Auston has invested a lot of effort in trying to get with William. He's not gonna let small concerns like a six-hour time difference and the collective bargaining agreement get in the way of that.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS A WIP. I don't know when this story's gonna get done. Sorry but I just don't know how to change. Please read the end notes for very important and spoiler-y content warnings, both for the chapter and the story going forward.
> 
> This is set during the 2018-2019 season and includes details of Willy's contract negotiations. Fic title taken from the song "Fruit" by ABRA.

Auston finds William at one of the tables in the back of the reception hall, half obscured by a gigantic arrangement of palm leaves. He's seated near some of Naz's older relatives–-they are talking animatedly with each other in Arabic, completely ignoring the famous hockey player slumped against the wall. Auston gives the Kadri elders a wide smile, responding to their NHL-related banter with some of his own chirps, before he gestures at William and moves to sit next to him.

Leaning close to Willy's ear, he raises his voice to be heard over the live band. "Hey there, sleepyhead."

Jerking his head, William looks up at him with a drowsy, confused eyes. Then they widen behind a cascade of blond hair. Auston answers his sheepish smile with a grin.

They've been talking a lot all summer, FaceTiming at the gym, their conversations carrying the undercurrent of excitement for the upcoming season. But he hasn't had a chance to talk to William much since his return to Toronto, having been caught up with Mitchy's hockey thing, and now Naz and Ashley's wedding. Auston has forgotten how much of a knockout William can be, his cheekbones high and fascinating in the shifting multicolored lights of the reception hall.

"Jet lag," William tells him with a smile that only quirks to one side. "One of Naz's uncles made me drink a glass of arak after one dance, and my vision started swimming. It was kind of embarrassing."

"You need someone to take you home?"

It takes him a beat to realize the innuendo, though William seems too tired to catch it and merely responds with a headshake.

"My place isn't livable yet. I just dropped off my stuff at Zach's and came straight to the wedding, so I'll probably crash at his place. Well, when I find him."

_Crash at mine_, Auston wants to say. "You'll probably have to wait a while longer, then. There's still a lot of dabke moves left in Zach."

"Maybe I just need a minute before I can join him. You don't know." The last word is distorted by William's yawn.

"Let me take you out to the garden, at least."

"Matts, I'm fine right here."

"Come on, you're bringing the party down. What, with your constant yawning, your lack of a contract--"

William makes a surprised noise and kicks him under the table. "Dick!"

He cracks up at William's look of exaggerated outrage. Fuck, he's missed him. He puts a hand on his elbow, squeezing lightly to urge him out of his chair. "Really though, let's catch some fresh air. It'll be quieter outside."

William's expression turns soft, even as he's rolling his eyes. "Fine, I guess I can do quiet."

Casa Loma's gardens are in full summer bloom and the scents hang heavy in the air. It's warm enough that they leave their jackets behind in the reception hall. Auston leads them somewhere quiet, an area obscured by hedges that he and Mitch had scouted while there was still sunlight. If their discussion mostly revolved around ideal makeout places, well. Willy doesn't have to know that.

There's a bench tucked away from foot traffic, flush against a stone wall. Auston turns William towards it, moving past the arcs of light-colored blooms. The noise of the party is still audible from where they decide to sit, but it's a pleasant background now.

"Oh yeah, this is much better," William sighs beside him. "Thanks, dude. You have the best ideas."

How is it possible to feel both smug and shy at the same time? "Of course. When have I ever steered you wrong?"

"When you told me _Waterboy_ and _Happy Gilmore_ are classic American films."

"Hey, those are facts."

"No, that's your weird Adam Sandler boner talking."

Their conversation meanders from one topic to another--what they each did in the summer, what they think of the Tavares signing. Eventually, Willy's responses start to come slower, fainter. Then his head lists sideways until it rests against Auston's shoulders, the rest of William's body angling for a comfortable position.

That's when Nazem Kadri, the king of extra, decides that the time is right to light up a set of fireworks from the other side of the property. Auston turns his head to stare at William's face as flashes of light illuminate him. The slant of is nose. Lips relaxed and slightly parted. The facial hair that he's allowing to grow out. A body chiseled by training underneath his summer suit, slotting so nicely against Auston's own.

Reaction time. It's one of the things Auston has been working on in the summer. Pushing for more explosiveness in his movements, getting his body to respond without stopping to think about it. He wonders if it's the alcohol or that training that's responsible for this moment, the split-second decision when he tilts his head down to kiss William Nylander.

Auston feels it on his lips when William gasps awake. He's still, as if bracing for impact.

"What was that?" William asks in a small voice.

"Uh, I got caught up in the moment?"

"I don't know what that means."

"Whatever you want it to mean, I guess." Auston's pretty sure his face is on fire, sweat starting to soak his dress collar. The neon dance overhead is reaching peak obnoxiousness, accompanying music blaring away. The wedding guests are partying without a care in the world, oblivious to this. Auston wills himself to ask, "Did it make you uncomfortable?"

William shakes his head against his shoulder. "It's not like that, _of course not_. But Matts? It doesn't have to be like--we're both pretty drunk."

Auston knows exactly what William is doing here, giving him an out. If he takes it, they'll chalk it up to something funny they did once at a wedding.

When you have something like they do on the ice, it's hard not to assign meaning to that, sometimes. William sees him like no one does, anticipates his movements, projects his thought processes three or four strides in advance. He finds it funny when Auston acts like a glib weirdo around the team, has complimented Auston's mom sweetly the few times he's dropped by for dinner. There's something there, Auston has been certain for a while now, a charge thrumming between them.

"You think I'm risking the sickest line in hockey for drunk bullshit?"

William's disbelieving snort is a puff of air against his jaw--the hair at the back of his neck prickles. William moves his head back to face him more fully, his eyes narrowing as he tries to peer at Auston's face.

"I'm not trying to be difficult, I swear," William says. "I just want to know what the play is."

Auston runs a hand over his face. "Whatever, there's no play here. I just thought that, you know, the night was nice and you looked nice. Feel free to ignore as needed."

"Are you gonna feel the same way tomorrow? When we're not made of fifty per cent liquor?"

"What do you think?"

His words hang in the air, the silence pierced by the muffled sounds of Toronto's evening traffic. Then strong, warm fingers reach over and tangle in Auston's hair, urging him to bend forward. William's mouth opens up against him this time, an agile tongue dipping in to trace the ridge of his teeth before pushing deeper. No hint of surprise or doubt.

Auston gives himself over to the wet heat, the slight hint of alcohol that he tastes when he sucks at William's tongue, the thin bow of his upper lip.

"Matty." Fingernails scratch against his nape. "Auston."

William says this in a soft, breathy moan against his lips, and Auston gives up trying to keep it casual and fun. His free hand reaches for William's waist, jerking his shirt free from his pants, grasping at muscle and fevered skin beneath linen and silk.

The fireworks display for Naz's wedding reception has finished, but there are still explosions behind his eyes.

-

It takes some convincing with his mouth, but William agrees to stay the night. Auston already has both of their jackets clutched in his hand as Willy--sporting the beginnings of beard burn--wanders away to tell Zach that he isn't staying over after all.

He can't fight the shiver when William comes back and whispers, "I'm ready to go." Lips against his ears.

He blames the alcohol for this, but it takes his mom greeting them at the door, shaking her head in her cozy flannel robe, for Auston to realize that a hotel would have been the better move. Some good-natured scolding later, his mom puts a hand on a blushing William and leads him to the guest bedroom. William shuffles along with her, looking back at Auston with alcohol-brightened eyes.

The haze of regretful horniness follows him to his own room. He takes off his suit, thrillingly aware that William is probably doing the same thing, just a few steps away. The first quick Snapchat message comes out of impulse.

> **Auston**  
Jul 29  
(1:31 am) I can't stop thinking about you. 

William has always slotted into Auston's brain as _cool teammate who I like to look at shirtless_, but in the past two seasons, between the hectic moments and drudgeries of professional hockey, their friendship kept gaining more dimensions outside of that. There's nothing he wants more than to add this new facet, one that allows Auston to suck on his tongue and run a hand under his shirt and keep taking him home.

He's sliding into bed after brushing his teeth when he looks back at the screen again, laughing ruefully as he reads the reply.

> **Will**  
(1:35) are u seriously doing this? 
> 
> **Auston**  
(1:48) Hey, I've wanted to kiss you for months now. I figure there's no point in holding back after shooting my shot. 
> 
> **Will**  
(1:55) 🙄 

For a second Auston thinks the eyeroll is the only response he's gonna get, and he's halfway to typing out his reply when William sends him a snap. Anticipation pools in his gut as he taps at the notification.

William has taken the photo from a high angle, slightly unfocused. Weak, diffused light from somewhere behind the camera, casting an unearthly glow on William's tanned, muscled torso. He has his shirt bunched around his armpits, revealing light brown nipples surrounded by a smattering of chest hair. His ab muscles are taut and elongated, like he's straining into a stretch. Only part of his jaw and neck are visible.

But it's the other hand, the one that's not holding the phone, that is making Auston's throat feel parched. His eyes trace the arm draped on top of William's stomach--down to where he's reaching into a tight pair of black boxers. Long, deft fingers disappear underneath, where he must be clutching the base of his dick. Auston's teeth sink into his lower lip, and he feels like a dumbass as he brings the phone closer to his face, trying to peer into the maddening shadow between William's splayed thighs.

"Oh, fuck me."

Auston brings up William from his contacts list and hits FaceTime. He's desperate to know what William sounds like when he's like this. Does his breath become shallow and labored, his face flushed and sweaty? Does his voice grow darker and raspier when he asks for what he wants? Maybe Auston can beg into William's ear to take the boxers all the way off and show him, please baby--

But William rejects the invite and sends a new snap instead. This time he's facedown on the bed, his now naked back a perfect, arcing bow. The boxers are pulled halfway down William's thighs, the contrast stark between the dark fabric resting below the curve of his ass, revealing the cleft. He doesn't let Auston come up for air before he's sending another message.

> **Will**  
(2:27 am) don't worry, i'll jerk off in the shower. ur bedsheets are safe.  
(2:28 am) night, matts. 
> 
> **Auston**  
(2:31 am) Fuck you're gonna drive me insane 

He doesn't get another reply. William could be in the shower, doing exactly what said he was gonna do, and the thought of it makes Auston want to claw out of his skin.

Auston's hand slips into his shorts and wraps around his hard-on. His palm is dry but it hardly matters when precome is already gathering at the head and coating his fingers, making his strokes down the shaft glide more smoothly. Some desperate corridor of his brain contemplates risking it all and knocking on the guest bedroom door. God, William could just fucking _breathe_ on him and he'd fucking burst, let alone if he put his hand over Auston's urgently pumping fist, traced the swollen head of Auston's cock with the tips of his fingers.

His breath catches at this thought, hips lifting off the mattress as every other thought is eclipsed by a brain-melting orgasm.

There's one last snap, much later, after Auston has washed up and put on a clean pair of boxers. William with the lower half of his face obscured by his bare arm. Some of his hair stick out in spiky clumps, like they're damp from the shower. Eyes sleepy around the edges, but he's still sending a scorcher of a gaze straight into the camera. He's throwing up a peace sign.

-

They are sitting together at the kitchen table the next morning, eating breakfast that Auston's mom prepared for them. William is wearing a black shirt and jogging pants that came from Auston's closet, and he's angling his phone to capture his plate of huevos rancheros, tongue peeking from the corner of his mouth as he tries to catch the light.

"Want me to take that for you?" Auston asks. "You might like to pose next to the refried beans."

"Ha ha."

Auston merely responds with a smirk. It does something to him, seeing William across the table in his clothes, rumpled and a bit hungover. It's unnervingly domestic compared to the heady, fever dream quality of the night before.

His parents have stepped out just moments ago, attending to errands that need to be done by the end of the week, when all three of them would have to leave once again for Scottsdale. The impulsive part of Auston itches to invite Willy to hop on the flight along with them, so they could show him the sights of Arizona. _There are world-class golf courses there_, Auston wants to tell him. _Great hiking trails, great spa resorts. There's gonna be me there._

Some more art directing later, William taps furiously at his screen before finally dropping his phone. He shifts his focus to shoveling eggs into his mouth. Auston's own iPhone vibrates not long after. The notification takes him to Willy's snap, no surprise. An artfully framed blue plate that contains his breakfast, with a glimpse of the Toronto skyline from the floor to ceiling window that dominates the kitchen. There's a caption, overlaid diagonally on the image.

> **Thank you, Mama Matthews!!**  
👍😍🍽

"Look at you, food blogger."

"Gotta hype up the most important Matthews of all," William says. Then he puts down his fork and pushes his plate away, finally leveling Auston with those devastating blue eyes. "Matts, I think we need to talk about last night."

Auston doesn't mean to square his shoulders, but he does anyway. "If you're gonna bring up how drunk we were again--"

"No, not like that. But it's kind of--" William hesitates, his cheeks turning pink. Auston waits him out. "So we're negotiating my new contract right now. Me and the team, I mean."

"Yes, Will, I'm aware. Everyone in the city with a pulse is aware."

The steady drumbeat of speculation started immediately after their loss in Round One, got louder after the Stanley Cup Final, then rose to a thunderous pitch as soon as the news broke that John Tavares is joining the Leafs. A new elite athlete on a big seven-year contract means an uncomfortably tight cap space for the rest of the team going forward. Willy's is gonna be the first big negotiation after the rebuild. Even Auston's friends on other teams have talked about the league bracing for a shitshow.

"I've been talking with people--like the Players' Association and some of my dad's old teammates? And they say I shouldn't keep talking to the coaching staff and you guys while I'm still not signed. It's not a good look."

Auston reaches for the easy joke. "I mean, what's a little sexy tampering between friends?"

"Shut up!" William laughs but it tapers off immediately, a look of uncertainty still in his eyes. He continues, "I don't think it's a good idea to--to start something like this, since no one knows how long the whole thing's gonna last. Everything's up in the air and we can't have feelings, well. Influencing career decisions."

"Feelings, huh?"

The chair scrapes against the floor as William pushes off abruptly, curling into himself with his hands covering his face. "Don't say it like that. Why are you so terrible?"

"What? I was just wondering what 'feelings' mean here. Come on, paint me a word picture of how much you enjoyed making out with me."

Auston bites both of his lips together to keep himself from grinning, as William looks up to glare at him. He's just really fun to rile up sometimes--his cheeks redden from being flustered, chin jutting out stubbornly.

They've been circling the boundaries of whatever this is for the better part of their careers, waiting for a spark to ignite. And while he never thought that the reckoning would come during the fireworks show at a teammate's wedding reception, Auston had figured that something would have to give somehow. It's just kind of disappointing that William doesn't feel the same surge of inevitability that he does.

"Matts--"

"I get it, don't worry. Bad timing and all that." Auston lifts a shoulder in a nonchalant shrug. Then, doing his best Al Pacino impression, he says, "_'It's not personal. It's strictly business.'_"

William's expression brightens at this, his eye scrunching in amusement. "Aw, you actually know good movies after all."

"My dad loves that movie, are you kidding? It's so stupid long though." Then Auston proceeds to make him laugh with a few more choice quotes.

After breakfast, William helps clean up and load the dishwasher, then tells Auston that he has to collect his luggage from Zach's and finally drop by his own condo. He goes to the guest bedroom to get ready, while Auston waits on the living room couch so he can drive him. Auston finally gets to his texts.

> **Marns**  
(9:15 am) YO DUDE WHAT DID I JUST SEE  
(9:16 am) SCOOOOOOORRRRREEE?? 
> 
> **Auston**  
(10:07 am) Nah, it got called back. Goalie interference. 
> 
> **Marns**  
(10:22 am) 😢😢😢 

-

He goes home and Willy goes home. The tail end of the summer stretches before Auston in a bright haze. He fills up his days training, playing golf, and shouting at Mitch over a headset as they get murked by bloodthirsty ten year-olds in _PlayerUnknown's Battlegrounds_. His sister Alex lets him tag along with her college friends on a three-day road trip headed for the California coastline, where he drops by Freddie's place and hangs out for a week.

All the while he keeps shooting William random things he finds funny. The texts go unanswered for days, with William off on his own very sun-filled and very shirtless summer adventures. But sometimes Auston gets a string of emoji responses or--even rarer--snaps of William squinting into the camera, the side his pink lips curled up in a smile.

When Auston can't think of anything witty to say, he just spams Willy with clips from his favorite comedies. Gob throwing a letter at the beach. Michael Scott and the George Foreman Grill. A compilation of Ron Swanson moments. He likes to think that Willy appreciates them.

-

> **Auston**  
Aug 22  
(4:04 pm) _[Anchorman Singalong - Afternoon Delight - YouTube]_
> 
> **Will**  
(8:49 pm) i know this song. my dad loves it. 
> 
> **Auston**  
(8:55 pm) Please don't bring up your dad when I'm trying to flirt with you. 
> 
> **Will**  
(9:02 pm) 😂 
> 
> **Will**  
Aug 24  
(10:12 am) now i can't stop singing it. i hate this earworm!! 
> 
> **Auston**  
(10:27 am) I'm gonna torture you with it until you sign. 
> 
> **William**  
(1:47 pm) joke's on you it came around for me.  
(1:48 pm) 😎 

-

The chaos of Mastercard Centre on the day before training camp hasn't changed much since the first time Auston came in two seasons ago, though new faces continue to pop up. The prospects greet each other loudly like it's the first day of school, all fighty and rambunctious, before shushing each other nervously when they spot Brendan Shanahan or Kyle Dubas milling about in the distance.

Mitch still acts exactly like them when he first arrives, attempting to put Auston in a headlock, because he has the soul of an undersocialized jack terrier.

Between queues for medical tests and face time with the media, Auston goes out of his way to introduce himself to the new drafts--he still remembers how overwhelming it felt on his first day, feeling simultaneously lost and scrutinized by a million eyes. Only the the easygoing chirps from the guys like Naz and Mo allowed him to lower his guard enough to actually enjoy himself.

It's in one of these sociable lulls when Kyle Dubas cuts a path through the crowded hallway towards Auston and the prospects he's been chatting with. Auston pushes away from the wall he's been leaning against and stands straighter. Kyle meets his gaze at eye level as he approaches, all smiles and shoulder pats.

"Great to see you all," Kyle says. He greets the dman they recently drafted from the Soo, who seems to know him pretty well. They start talking about Kyle's grandma, which is about the quaintest hockey talk that Auston has ever witnessed.

Then Kyle asks him, "What about you, Auston, did the summer treat you well?"

Auston talks a little bit about what he did in Scottsdale. He makes sure to name the conditioning systems he tried in case that is what Kyle is trying to find out.

Kyle called him throughout the offseason, ever since he was named as Lou Lamoriello's replacement for General Manager. Auston's agent, of course, opened periodic talks with him and his assistants as soon as they were legally allowed to talk about a contract. It's still too early to tell but Auston likes him okay. He's generally affable and doesn't condescend to the younger guys, though Kyle does look a lot like the guy from his condo who keeps trying to get Auston to invest in his app.

After a few minutes of small talk that include a couple more prospects, Kyle turns to Auston again. "While we're both here, have you got a minute?"

"Sure."

Kyle excuses them both to the rookies and motions towards the rooms usually occupied by the video team, a couple of doors down the hallway. Auston walks ahead of him, his hands stuffed inside the pockets of his freshly issued Maple Leafs hoodie.

"So what's your sense of the new guys so far?" Kyle asks as he closes the door to the video room. He motions for Auston to sit on one of the wheeled office chairs, while he takes as seat on the desk.

Auston shrugs. "The prospects seemed cool, excited to be here. I haven't hung out too much with the free agents yet, but I'm looking forward to that."

"Great. That's exactly what I want to hear from you."

The chair squeaks a little as Auston shifts, keeping up his string of benign answers to more of Kyle's questions. He assumes this is gonna steer into the William Nylander territory eventually--everything does these days. The beat reporters have been on the prowl all morning, talking up whoever they can so they can jangle loose a couple of quotes about Willy's absence.

The locker room does not have a stall with a Nylander nameplate on it, and a couple of them tried to use that as the start of their questions, which is some amount of bullshit.

Even before the night of Naz's wedding, Auston has gotten it in his head not to offer an opinion about William's situation to anyone. There's nothing that the market loves more than taking a small quippy comment and running all the way through Yonge-Dundas Square with it. Auston has already caught whiffs of the dominant storylines that are weaving around the holdout--he's not gonna have any problems closing his big mouth about those.

Kyle asks him about how he feels physically, if there are things that the trainers or nutritionists would need to know to help him through the season. Asks Auston about the end of their playoff run against Boston, any lingering dissatisfaction that he wants to get off his chest. Auston tries to be both thoughtful and assertive, state flat out that he's not interested in looking back and that his full focus is on the season ahead.

_Just get me my winger back, man_, he thinks wryly.

"I'm glad to hear that you're excited for the season as well." Kyle straightens from the desk. "I know that the noise doesn't really stop in the summer for this team, but it's only going to get louder. We just need to stand pat on the communication protocol when it comes to William, and the energy of training camp will carry--"

"Wait, back up," Auston cuts in. "What does that part about Willy mean?"

Something in Kyle’s expression shifts, and he blinks a few times. "The policy across the league is to restrict communication with free agents to the front office."

Auston narrows his eyes. He distinctly remembers being asked to give John Tavares a phone call in June to sell the team as the ideal landing spot for his talent. It helped get the very unsigned JT to sign in Toronto.

"The way things stand right now, Auston, we have to expect that the talks may bleed into the beginning of the season. This means more eyes are going to scrutinize how we talk about him, especially in private."

"I literally just send him memes."

With a sigh, Kyle sits back down on the desk and crosses his arms. He look at Auston straight on. "As a franchise, we have to look out for whatever can be interpreted as putting pressure on the player. Some people believe--and I agree with them--that this includes teammates joking about the holdout or even hinting at things that the player is missing out on. Ask your PA rep about it and he'll tell you exactly the same thing."

"We don't do that to him--"

"It's not easy to pull back as an athlete and see your interactions with your teammates objectively. Sometimes the best move is to cut yourself off from the temptation."

Auston bristles at the gentle condescension, but he bites the inside of his cheek to keep himself from mouthing off. Boy genius or not, Dubas doesn't get to parachute into this situation and act like he fucking knows how to read the dynamics of the team. It's not on Auston to make his job easy.

"The process is in place," Kyle says, his tone earnest. It's the voice you use to placate heated, unreasonable people. "We just have to let it play out."

-

Pre-season picks up momentum as soon as it starts. By the end of the week attendees at camp have shrunk by twenty, with two single-period scrums occurring throughout the day. In between that and training, they record things for social media and publicity, meet with sponsors and representatives of Sportsnet and Bell. Everything is frantic and scrutinized by the media and Auston puts his mind into doing his role.

He keeps texting, but Willy must have gotten the same warning because he doesn't respond anymore.

Auston makes an effort to make the new guys like Ozh, JT, and Ennis feel welcome, tries to make it work with the new lines that Babs has been fiddling with. They're strong, hardworking athletes and Auston gets into a rhythm with them. Sometimes he pauses, expecting a cross-seam pass that doesn't come, but with his reflexes improving in the offseason, he's able to course correct.

On the second preseason game against the Senators, Auston gets on the roster with Tyler Ennis and Patty Marleau on his wings. He scores the opening goal.

-

Mitch is supposed to let Auston know once the guys finally hash out where they're going to meet for dinner, which is why Auston does a double-take when he sees William's name flashing on his iPhone screen instead. He disconnects from the _NHL 19_ game mid-match and scrambles for the remote control to turn off the TV. Exhaling through the sudden nervousness that he feels, Auston taps Accept and watches as the interface dissolves into William's too-close, achingly familiar face.

William is wearing a thin white shirt and leaning against what looks like a headboard. Auston's eyes catch on the details--the thin chain necklace draped carelessly over his collarbone, the chunky rim of his eyeglasses, the airpods hooked to his ears half-obscured by his hair. It's longer than Auston has ever seen him wear it, and he wants to run his hand through the strands.

"Hello," William says. His voice is tinny and hollow coming out of the phone speakers.

"Hey you, it's been a while." Auston looks at the time on his phone--it's 4:30 pm in Toronto, the sun just starting to slant down from the window of his living room. "What time is it there?"

"Dunno. Late? I just finished watching your game from yesterday." The image cuts out as William flips the camera, then shows the glare of a macbook screen surrounded by a lightly striped comforter, right next to William's knee. "You were good. Never missed a beat."

"Well, I think I'd do better if--"

Austons words cut off when the image shifts back to William. He's taking a pull at a bottle of beer, his pale throat working as he swallows. The moisture left on his lips gleams in the blue light of the laptop, and he uses the back of his hand to wipe it off.

God, the things William does to him sometimes. Auston had half a mind to joke about feeling ghosted by his favorite liney, but it feels like a trivial point to bring up when Willy is looking into the camera with heavy-lidded eyes, bridge of his nose flushed and endearing. Instead, Auston stands up from the living room couch and makes a beeline for his bedroom, turning on the lights to see better.

"You were saying something?" William asks.

At the back of his mind, Kyle Dubas's grim-faced warning about putting pressure on William becomes an annoying refrain. _I miss you_, sits at the tip of his tongue, but he just shakes his head.

"It's nothing important. You're just winding down for the evening, huh?" he says as he closes the door. He makes his way to his own bed and sits down. "Drinking alone?"

William's laughs, tipping his head back. "It's not like I have anywhere else to be."

"What about your folks? Aren't they around?"

"Oh no, this is an apartment I keep in Djurgården. It's just me here. My family--" He lets out a huff of breath, disturbing his hair. "They're a pretty upbeat bunch, you know. Well-adjusted."

Auston has met several Nylanders through the couple of seasons they've played together, various configurations of aunts and sisters and nephews, all blond, fresh-faced and easy with their smiles. William loves telling little anecdotes about each of them, small crinkles appearing on the corner of his eyes as he struggles to finish his stories without giggling. Auston has never seen William bring up his family with that kind of tone before, that unhappy curl of his mouth.

The tone of this call has been making Auston unbalanced--it feels loaded in a way that conversations with William never get. He wonders if it's the distance, the barrier of phone screens between them. He finds that unacceptable.

"Is there something on your mind, Will?"

"No, it's fine. Tell me what the team's been doing. I'm bored." William takes another swig.

Auston says carefully, "We just had a pretty chill day, actually. Practice ended at lunch. We filmed some stuff with Henny for Leafs Network." Maybe these are included in stuff that are inappropriate to discuss with him, but if Willy wants to know about the team, then Kyle's "communication protocol" can fuck right off.

"Light skate? No scrimmage or drills?"

"A couple of drills. We got back from Ottawa pretty late last night. I think Babs stayed to watch some Marlies video."

William makes a humming sound. "The Buffalo game is in two days anyway, makes sense. And you guys get to finally play a hockey game with a Nylander this year." He tries to smile as he says this, but Auston sees the attempt waver and ultimately fall away. A curtain of hair falls on his face when William bows his head.

"Will--"

His eyes snap up again, the sheen of his glasses blurring his eyes. William whispers, "During the summer, when--you told me you're into me. Do you still feel that way?"

Auston leans in. If William was here, if he was flesh and bone and not a set of pixels on his phone, their faces would be as close as they get on the ice, the gust of William's breath reaching his cheek as he calls a play before faceoff.

"Well yeah. Of course I do. No question about it."

A long pause, then William nods his head slowly. "I thought so." He turns away from the screen for a second, then faces the screen again. "If we have FaceTime sex tonight, you'll enjoy that, right?"

The sharp breath he takes is so abrupt that Auston coughs a little. Palms suddenly sweaty, he fumbles his hold on the phone. "What?"

William downs the rest of his bottle, turning his face even redder. Desire roars to a full flame in Auston's gut at the sight of it. William's eyes are flitting around, restless. He mutters, "It's okay to say no."

"Hold on. Let's pump the brakes for a minute here." Auston takes a deep breath and tries to tamp down the hysteria--it's like the call took a left turn and promptly drove itself off a cliff. William was the one who told him how the timing is bad for it, how feelings can get muddled by the negotiations. "Don't you want to talk about this first?"

"What's there to talk about? I thought you wanted me."

Auston feels like they're threading a dangerous play together, a new reality that they can't walk back. He can taste the possibility in the back of his throat, but this isn't the way he imagined it at all. He says, "There's no reason to hurry, you know. It doesn't have to happen tonight. Maybe that's just the booze ta--"

"You know what, forget it--"

"Baby, come on," Auston cuts in, desperate.

William snaps his mouth closed at that, his jaw set defensively. The image on the screen jostles again, and all he can see is the top of William's bare feet as he's walking on a gray-blue rug. The FaceTime feed refocuses, this time almost covered up by two large palms, the phone appearing to be at William's chest level. Then he's talking again.

"I'm gonna start taking my clothes off in a minute. You can click out of the call anytime or whatever."

Before Auston can say anything, the hands fall away and William steps back. The phone camera must have been mounted to something, positioned to capture the empty bed now viewed at a slight angle. A few seconds later the lighting changes and slowly fills the room with a soft, warm glow. Auston looks up and stares around his own room, surprised to realize that there's still some light out. Barely an hour has passed since William called, but it’s felt like a million years.

Music starts to trickle out of his speakers, an old Khalid song. Auston shifts in his bed, feeling the stirrings of traitorous arousal despite the whole unnerving situation.

The thing is: he doesn't want to leave. The admission makes him ashamed, feeling starkly like a jerk led around by his own dick. He wants to see miles of naked skin, the insane body that he's idly admired in the locker room writhing sinfully in bed. He wants to watch William's brows furrow as he works to get himself off, wants to know if William keeps his grip tight and fast as he touches himself or if he likes to draw it out until he's shaking from it.

"_Willy._" Auston says again, trying to convey as much urgency as he can. Still no answer. He hears a loud clatter before William's torso appears in the frame again. A hand reaches out, grasping the phone and William's face comes into focus, his hair combed back.

He's no longer wearing his eyeglasses or the airpods in his ears.

William starts walking backwards with the phone until he's near the bed before setting it back down. Somewhere during Auston's crisis of intention, William has somehow gotten himself a new bottle of beer. Now it's dangling loosely from one long-fingered hand, while the other slowly pulls at the string on his waistband, unraveling the knot. He starts pulling the black track pants down with a slight shimmy of his hips, revealing navy boxer-briefs that snugly cover his already hard dick.

"Fuck."

He can't hear much of William anymore, but Auston can see how hard he's breathing, lips parted, chest and shoulders heaving as he bends down to free his legs. He climbs onto the mattress, kneeling right at the edge. He tilts his head back, takes a long drink of the beer, before putting it on the floor.

_Ride, ride, ride, come and vibe with me tonight_, the song croons in the background as William reaches for the hem of his shirt and lifts it slowly, revealing whispers of dark hair running below his belly button, the hard planes of his stomach undulating to beat of the music. With a shake of his head, he takes off the shirt completely and throws it to the side.

Auston's fingers scramble to unbutton his jeans as William--syrupy slow and deliberate--reaches into his boxers and frees his own dick. Those glorious thighs spread themselves wider, and William's mouth slackens as he lets out an inaudible moan. Auston has an internal meltdown over how much he wants to hear that sound. But he feels trapped, no way to tell William anything, to beg for him to do it again. Auston's own fingers wrapping around his erection are cool in comparison to the furnace that the rest of his body has become.

William's neck and chest flush with the same shade of pink as the head of his dick. It peeks out at every downward stroke. William pauses for a second and, _christ_, lifts up his hand to lick a wide stripe on the palm before bringing it back down. The mattress rocks more obviously as his hand moves faster, William's arm muscles flexing as he puts a wicked twist to his wrist on the upstroke. Auston watches, enraptured, as William's eyelashes flutter before closing shut completely.

The more he strokes himself off the more flushed he gets all over, such a pretty sight. It's driving Auston insane. William's hips lift off the mattress while one hand is splayed on the bed for balance, the movements frantic and scorching hot. He must be so close now, chasing his release, and there's a bruise of a feeling that sits on Auston's sternum, making it hard to breathe.

"Come on, baby, take yourself there," Auston whispers into the empty room, and he'd swear William hears him as he throws his shoulders back, his fist stroking one last time before white streaks of come land on his sweat-covered abs.

Fuck.

He doesn't get the time to react, or even get himself off with the incendiary image still playing out on his phone, because William straightens up too quickly, visibly panting. With a brief, squinting glance at the screen he reaches out with his clean hand towards the camera.

"Will, wait--"

The call cuts out abruptly, and Auston's wallpaper of the Sonora desert is the only thing staring back at him.

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter includes an impulsive, drunken FaceTime sex, that wasn't negotiated beforehand. It's preceded by an argument about it, which brings up issues of dubious consent. There's alcohol involved.
> 
> Elements that this story will NOT include: public outing, leaking of secret camming identity, any strong stance on labor rights in the NHL.
> 
> \- Thank you and I'm sorry to Abby, Brooks, Helen and Kit for letting me whine incessantly about this fic, as well as for invaluable beta reading and support. 
> 
> \- Catch me on Twitter @ disastrnak. I'm also on Tumblr at sean-moneyhands.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is odd. Please mind the tags.

For a solid minute Auston does nothing but stare up at the ceiling of his bedroom, unsure of what to do next. He turns his head and realizes that he's still holding his phone tightly against the bed. His hand is shaking from the strain.

After raking in a breath, he says, "Hey Siri? Text Marns."

Auston fires off a quick message canceling on dinner, speaking into the emptiness of the room. He's tossing the phone and gripping his dick even before the ding confirms that the text has been sent. Images of William invade his brain, the slight bounce of the mattress in those last few seconds, when he tossed his head back as come spilled out of his dick in short arcs.

If he had been there--

If Auston had been there, he'd be crowding into the space between William's thighs, one arm going around the small of his back so that their hips were flush against each other. Auston would coax William's hand away from his cock and replace it with his own, draw out each stroke so he wouldn't come so quickly. Maybe he'd whine at that, clutch his hands bruisingly on Auston's shoulders and demand relief. Maybe Auston would let his other hand drift down to William's ass, reaching so that his middle finger grazed tantalizingly over William's hole. Auston would ask against his neck, _is this getting you hot? Is this driving you crazy?_

And only when William admitted yes and begged would Auston finally quicken the pace and give him what he needed.

He bites into his forearm to muffle the shout as he orgasms with an intensity that levels him. He sprawls on the bed and tries to reorient himself, heart thudding against his chest like a collision.

After quickly splashing his face in the bathroom, Auston hunts for his phone in a sea of bedsheets and texts William.

> **Auston**  
September 20  
(11:14 pm) Hey, do you wanna facetime again?  
(11:16 pm) Anytime tonight is fine.  
(11:16 pm) I just wanna check in with you.

He stares at the screen, willing the animated dots to appear, until the phone turns dark on him twice. Then he makes his way towards the kitchen and listlessly looks for something to eat. He fires up Netflix and tries to get into the show that he's in the middle of bingeing, but he keeps checking in to find his texts unanswered. Texts from Mitch complaining about his flakey ass start coming in quick bursts but he ignores them, afraid of what will spill out of him if he interacts with another human this soon.

There's no denying that the way the call turned out was blisteringly hot, way more than anything Auston could've anticipated. But the entire thing still has him shaken up, knees unsteady like he's skating on bad ice. He wants to be sure that William is meeting him where he stands, that he knows how much Auston wants this to be a start, something they can build on despite the distance between them right now.

William might have gone to bed already--a quick google shows that Sweden is six hours ahead of Toronto. Before going to bed, he asks:

> **Auston**  
(11:47 pm) Are we ever gonna talk about this?

The plaintiveness of the last text is kind of embarrassing, so he thumps face down on the bed and wills himself to sleep. He only sees the answer when he wakes up for morning skate.

> **Will**  
September 21  
(7:02 am) i don't know.

-

Auston and Mitch are preparing to leave for post-practice lunch when Kappy, still sweaty in his practice gear, enters the locker room and stalks towards them. "Yo, did someone from the front office talk to you about cutting off Willy?"

Auston does a quick sweep around the room. Save for the three of them, the only person left is Ennis. He grimaces nervously at Kappy's outburst and tries to pack his duffel bag as inconspicuously as possible. Mitch meets Auston's eyes and he can tell that Dubas has gotten to him as well. Letting out a heavy breath, Auston says, "Sort of. At the start of camp."

Kappy's expression darkens. "What the hell, man? I could've used a heads up."

"How would it have helped if you knew beforehand?"

"I don't know, I could have prepared something to say! I couldn't think of anything except 'fuck you,' so I just kept my mouth shut."

"Probably for the best that you didn't get to prepare, then," Auston says.

He's making an effort to keep his expression neutral, paranoid that _I watched William Nylander come last night and he was so pretty doing it_ is written all over his face. Snapshots from last night have been firing off in his head throughout practice, making him space out while waiting in line for edgework drills.

Kappy throws his gloves into his stall, one loud thump after another. "So what, they want the guy to not have any friends when he comes back? Is that it?"

"Apparently it’s so we can't guilt him into coming back sooner than he should," Mitch says.

Kappy makes a stinkface at him. "Did you also believe that every pet you ever owned went to live on a farm outside the city? Like christ, it's bad enough that he barely even takes my calls anymore. And when Zach tells you that Willy hasn't been chatty enough, there's gotta be a problem."

Hearing that William’s still regularly taking calls from their teammates makes something churn in the pit of Auston's stomach. Objectively, he understands that it’s a good thing for William to hear from more people--the last thing that Auston wants is the complete isolation that Kappy has been alluding to, William holed up in that quiet apartment in Sweden. It's just that Auston would like a roster spot on that check-in shortlist or whatever, that's all.

As he walks towards the showers with a towel slung over his bare shoulder, Kappy says, "Whatever, I can play in Europe. My dad owns a team there, I don't need this clown show."

Auston rolls his eyes. "You joining us for lunch?"

"Nah, go ahead. I'm gonna be too busy packing my house and booking a flight to fuck off of this country."

Later at the restaurant while they're looking at the menu, Mitch asks, "So what did you think about what the grump said back there? Do we roll up to MLSE and look for someone to fight, or what?"

"Tough talk. I bet you'd cry if Shanny even said that he was disappointed in you." Auston is already flagging a server as Mitch squawks in indignation.

-

Auston tries to put it out of his mind. He watches from the press box as Mitch and JT play the Sabres. Then they travel to Buffalo the next day, where it's Auston's turn to take to the ice, scoring a goal in the second. But all the while, he keeps sending texts that William leaves unanswered--the stupid hope in his chest takes a long time to die. 

On the same night of the second game, the team bus drives them back to Toronto, dropping them off at the Scotiabank Arena at midnight. Almost an hour later Auston trudges into his condo, feeling resentful and sorry for himself. He fires off a DM to William.

> **Auston**  
September 24  
(1:21 am) I just think it's shitty that you're cutting me off when I didn't do anything wrong.

He randomly puts on _Venom_, a film that he's seen a million times, to let his brain shut off and to cover up the silence around him. As he’s morosely undressing, his phone pings. 

> **Will**  
(1:28 am) there's nothing else to say.
> 
> **Auston**  
(1:31 am) What are you doing up?
> 
> **Will**  
(1:34 am) it's 7 in the morning. i'm having breakfast.
> 
> **Auston**  
(1:39 am) Well good, then you have the time to respond instead of just putting me on read.  
(1:41 am) I don't know what I did wrong and you won't even tell me how to fix it.  
(1:44 am) It's not like I'm the one who started this. You're the one who called me.
> 
> **Will**  
(1:47 am) you're the one who kissed me.

The night of Naz's wedding feels like a lifetime ago. Somehow things felt simpler then, before the real world--with its contract talks and media spin and the fans' abrupt anger--started creeping in. But the feeling of that night is still lodged in his brain, how William yielded so easily in his hands, the small huff of laughter when Auston ran his teeth down the side of William's neck. It's that feeling that he wants to get back, and he's not going to do that by taking his frustration out on William. 

Maybe the FaceTime sex has added a wrinkle of doubt in William's mind about what Auston feels about him. Sex does tend to complicate things, if his experience with dating girls have taught him anything. Maybe William's afraid that Auston is gonna treat it like a random fling. Or like a bros thing to sweep aside when he returns to this side of the world.

If Auston can just get them on the same page, get William to agree to the direction that they're taking, everything will be fine. Great, even.

> **Auston**  
(1:53 am) Are you embarrassed about what happened the other night? Don't worry about it. I was into it. I thought it was hot.  
(1:55 am) It's okay if this came before dating. We can sort that out as soon as you get back to Toronto.
> 
> **Will**  
(1:59 am) i'm not embarrassed.
> 
> **Auston**  
(2:02 am) And you shouldn't be! That's why you should just talk to me about it.
> 
> **Will**  
(2:05 am) i'm two years older than you. and i'm hot.  
(2:06 am) people have been throwing themselves at me for years.  
(2:08 am) you really think anything about sex embarrasses me?
> 
> **Auston**  
(2:10 am) Well, what was up with the ghosting then?

There's nothing from William for several minutes, and Auston glares at the movie as he tries to tamp down the sudden pique of annoyance. Auston has been trying his goddamn best, but William's been tightlipped and quicker to temper than he's ever been in the time they’ve played together. It makes Auston feel helpless and stupid, not being able to anticipate William's moods like he thinks he should.

The next message that he gets is a link: _https://www.lightsoutmodels.com_. When Auston clicks on it, the browser loads a fullscreen banner, a collage of tastefully underdressed bodies of all genders rendered in black and white. 'SIGN UP FOR FREE' blares in bold white letters with a stylized webcam logo printed above it.

> **Auston**  
(2:21 am) Did you get hacked or something?
> 
> **Will**  
(2:25 am) just make an account if you care to know. the channel name is a_fancy_bed_x  
(2:26 am) i gotta go

What the hell is he trying to pull off here? Auston hates that the subtle challenge in William's message is getting to him, because he does want to know what the fucking deal is. Well, screw it then. He thumbs back to the open browser screen and hits the signup button.

Not giving two shits what he puts in a throwaway account, Auston bitchily types _demondick6969_ as the username, to honor Venom valiantly accompanying him in this most frustrating of nights. He's fully expecting a prank compilation of Vines or a hot celebrity pornstar, a roundabout way for William to say that Auston should find something else to jerk off to and leave him alone. He clicks past the instructions to upload an icon photo and update the profile, the optional request for credit card information, the invitation to subscribe to their newsletter. Finally, the interface shows a series of thumbnail images. Come hither faces, naked torsos, lacy lingerie. A lot of them have a blinking green light beside their titles. He ignores those in favor of the search bar, and copies what William sent him into it. From the dropdown, he clicks the link which takes him to the channel page.

The thumbnail for the latest video gives him a jolt of recognition, something just tripping an alarm in his head. It's a shot of someone's naked back. The model has his hands raised towards his head, causing muscles to ripple beneath a thin sheen of sweat. Blond hair cascades from the top of the frame as the model's head tips back enough for the locks to touch exquisitely defined shoulderblades. 

Auston taps on the thumbnail.

A loading video icon starts slowly blinking on the screen, the words 'STAND BY' underneath. The layout of the page looks similar to YouTube, except with a purple and gray color scheme. Underneath where the video is supposed to appear is a chatbox--it's empty for the first several seconds, but then a couple of comments start coming in.

> **user496313:** check out lightsoutmodels.com/channel/hott2… for a hot night xoxo  
**user496313:** check out lightsoutmodels.com/channel/hott2… for a hot night xoxo  
_€5 tip from GreekGod007. Thank you! 💋_  
**j_money_16:** u been a bad baby boy i bet  
**exmachina_:** What a nice thing to come home to after a long day.  
**user211946:** cmon babe.  
**user211946:** been dreaming about dat ass for weeks  
**callumtopside:** i'm looking forward to this!  
**j_money_16:** u look so good riding my daddy dick. i'll spank u til u cry  
_$10 tip from callumtopside. Thank you!💋_

The counter on the bottom right corner displays _47 Viewers_ by the time the stream starts. It opens to an empty room that Auston doesn't recognize. An office of some sort, with a light-colored wall on the far end and a display table pushed against it. To the left, there's an unlit standing lamp made of twisted metal, and a giant, wide-leafed potted plant just peeking out right next to it. The camera angle is low and pointed slightly downwards--Auston sees a white keyboard sitting atop a dark wood table. An unfamiliar club song is playing in the background, the volume turned low.

After a few minutes he hears a sharp scraping sound from outside the frame, like furniture getting dragged across the floor. In the background a voice calls out, "Sorry about the noise, it'll get better, I promise." 

There's an ear-splitting screech again and the person in the video lets out a laugh so distinctive and familiar that Auston's hair stands on end.

A large leather chair with a tufted backrest starts to inch into the right side of the frame. The person pushing it appears not long after, clad in a thin shirt and gray sweatpants. The webcam is only high enough to show a torso, sleekly muscled shoulders and the hint of a well-defined jawline. When he speaks again, his voice is much closer and clearer. 

"Hello everyone. There's not gonna be much foreplay today, because I wanna try something new." 

The model has a low timbre, but it has an unusual lilt at the end. Rounded out vowels butting against drawled out consonants, elements of an unplaceable accent that hints of more than one spoken language, of having lived all over the map. He knows this voice as well.

"I bought them because I just had my birthday and I've had a _really_ bad time at work lately."

A flood of birthday wishes and comforting words from commenters flood the chatbox. Auston glances down to see the date when the stream went live. Sure enough, it says _May 4, 2018_ in the description, a mere week after the Leafs' playoff loss to Boston. 

Auston's world tilts on its axis.

On the screen, the man reaches off-camera for a medium-sized box and flips it open. Inside it, there's a glass dildo and a glass plug nestled in a dark blue satin-y surface. He says, "Let's see if these make me feel better about my terrible week, yeah?"

William--it's fucking impossible for it to be anyone else, it's him, it's him--goes offscreen for a moment, leaving his audience to chat excitedly for what's about to come. When he returns, he's carrying two mugs. He places them on the table in frame and reaches into the first mug, pulling out an ice cube and showing it to the camera. Auston leans closer into the screen as William drops the glass plug into it. The other mug has steam wafting from its contents--Willy slides the longer dildo in. The glass clinks against the mug's rim.

"I haven't done this before, but the website says these are great for playing around with temperature. What do you guys think, which should I try first?" There's a lilt of mischief in his voice, like he knows just how much he can wind his audience up.

The chatbox becomes a rapidly flickering scroll of competing votes and comments. It makes William laugh.

"Oh my god, I can't keep up with all of that. I'll just put up a poll, okay?"

After a few seconds of fiddling, a new brightly colored widget appears on the top of the chatbox, two bars labeled 'HOT' and 'COLD' shifting in a recreation of real time. Auston watches the number of votes tick up steadily; his own fingers twitch at the sudden illogical urge to choose.

While the voting rages on, William lifts the hem of his shirt and takes it off, the sight of his bare chest causing a new set of frenzied comments from his audience. Then he turns his back to the camera and slides his sweatpants and underwear off, his movements efficient, unshowy. Before he can question it, Auston is pressing his palm on the base of his hardening dick. 

Now completely naked, the curves of his ass and thighs almost gleaming in the bright light, William steps to the side and maneuvers the armchair so it is positioned right against the computer table, as close to the webcam as possible. William lifts his leg to place one knee on the seat of the armchair, before hauling up his full weight to rest the other knee on the armrest. His legs are spread wide, giving an unobstructed view of his ass, the pucker a dusky pink.

Auston swears under his breath and clicks pause before flipping his phone screen down. His breathing has turned labored. There's a distant ringing in his ears. He can't believe he's--that Willy is--

God, he needs a minute.

A storm is raging inside Auston, confusion mixed with this weird desire to flee, but a more feral urge is forcing him to pick up his phone again. Now that he's discovered that this exists in the world, he's powerless against the need to _see_. He yells, "Fuck!" into the silence of the room, before hitting the play button again.

There's a click of a cap before a plastic bottle drops into the seat by William's knee. His right hand moves between his legs, the middle finger shiny and wet. William's balls, a shade deeper than his asshole, are jostled by his wrist as he pushes his finger in right to the first knuckle, hand moving in and out in a steady rhythm. He pauses, carefully twisting his wrist, easing deeper.

"Yeah okay, it's starting to feel nice," he says, before giggling. "I hope I'm still in the frame." Then the sounds turn into gasping as he slides another finger in alongside the first. 

William stretches himself, unhurried, his ass grinding down in time with each thrust, until he's finally taking the length of those fingers right past the second knuckle. He's a lot quieter than Auston was expecting based on the porn he's watched, just random puffs of indrawn breath, drowned out by the squelching sound of his fingers pumping in over and over. But he gets to hear William again when he splays his fingers apart right as they are slipping out of his lube-slick hole. William moans long and low, luxuriating in the feeling, and Auston closes his eyes at the sound before blinking them right back open, not wanting to miss a thing. Again and again, William repeats the same motion.

Still on his knees, William pivots so he's facing the camera again, the screen dominated by his flushed chest and neck. 

"Let's see," he says, making a considering noise, slightly out of breath. "I guess 'cold' won, so let's do that first." 

He turns his back and mounts the armchair again, before twisting a bit to pluck out the plug from the ice water mug. A bit of the water splashes onto the table. William snickers. "Oh my god, it's like an icicle." 

William rebalances himself on his knees before pushing the plug in slowly, gasping as he does so. "Helvete också." he mutters under his breath, voice muffled as he rests his forehead on the chair's backrest. "This is colder than having sex at a rink." 

After visibly rolling his neck, he reaches down to touch the flare that rests tantalizingly framed by his cheeks. The transparent material has been fashioned to look like an oval-cut gemstone, and the light catches the facets as William moves. He put his hand on his still-hard dick and starts with long, confident strokes, which causes him to groan. The muscles of his ass and thighs flex like he's clenching around the plug. He moves sideways again so he can reach for the cold mug and fish out another ice cube. He cries out as he puts it against the base of the plug, moving it slowly along his taint until the ice melts completely.

"This is a miss for me, I think," he says. "It just feels weird."

He turns around again, and the head of his dick looks mouthwatering as it's peeking out from the top of his motionless fist. 

"Do I still try out the hot one or do I just finish with this now?" The chat overwhelmingly begs for him to keep going. He reads the feed and laughs. "Okay, no problem, just give me a minute."

Slowly, delicately, he eases the plug out. The way his rim stretches as the widest part of the plug slips out is gonna feature heavily in Auston's dreams for the rest of his life. After dropping it right back into the mug with a clink, he picks up the dildo plunged in hot water. He tests the temperature by running a hand down the glass shaft, his fingers tracing the slightly curved shape. After slicking the entire length with lube, he murmurs, "Well, here goes." 

As soon as William traces the head around his ass, his breath catches and runs high, betraying how much he's enjoying the sensation. His forearm flexes as he takes in more. Suddenly his entire body twitches--the subtle bulb of the toy's end must've hit on his prostate. He pulls it out before thrusting it back in, and yeah, there's the twitch again. 

"This one feels better I think." He bends forward while he reads some of the comments, his right hand still keeping the toy inside him. "Is it still hot? Um, sort of? I kind of feel it more with my hand now. Feels good, I wish I could feel the heat for longer though." 

William pauses to read more. "Run it against my--like this?" 

He pulls out the dildo, so wet in the light, and slowly runs it along the length of his stiff, red dick. It jerks against his stomach at the contact with the glass, the leftover lube transferring onto the skin so it looks even more obscene.

"Oh, wow."

He dips the dildo again into the hot mug, leaving it there for a few seconds before taking it out and running it up and down his cock. Then he does it again. With every repetition, William's breath gets increasingly labored, his thighs straining more and more. No throwaway comments for his audience now--it's like he's hypnotized by the ritual of it. Dips into the water, waits, then glances the softest touch of glass against trembling, reddened skin. Before long, William starts switching it up, running the shaft along his taint, eliciting soft, punched out sounds from his mouth.

Finally, he rasps out, "I'm just gonna put it in me now, okay? I wanna come so bad."

He starts fucking himself with it, his biceps bulging with the effort. His hips push down in time with each stroke. William's jaw slackens as he lets out louder, more desperate pants, until he’s full-on gasping and tipping his head towards the ceiling. His adam's apple bobs in labored gulps. 

"Oh. Oh fuck, I'm--"

He switches to his off-hand to keep the dildo from sliding out, before using his right hand to pump his dick again. Auston mirrors him, slipping a hand underneath his boxers. There's no pausing this time. At every eager stroke, Auston's tongue gets stuck further and further back in his mouth, forcing him to swallow. He can't stop staring at William's arm and wrist, the same patch of skin that would always peek past his hockey gloves.

As William comes, Auston feels the familiar tightening of his balls--William's orgasm tripping his own need to come, the pressure careening him headlong towards relief. He shudders and comes watching William groan and stretch, his sweat-drenched muscles rippling with the movement as he takes out the dildo.

Auston struggles to get his breath back for a long moment after, his eyes closed while his body vibrates from too many sensations. When he eventually opens them again, he realizes that William must've gone offscreen to clean up. He's returning now, donning a new shirt and leaning closer to the camera. He starts talking, voice still winded and raspy--he seems to be scrolling through people's comments and replying.

"Thank you, I had a blast.... Well, I don't think I'm gonna. Cold sex toys just feel like when you forget to warm up the lube? At least to me? Sorry.... I'll try the plug again when it's not cold, for sure…. Yeah, they make really pretty products.... No, I still don't do private shows...." A small, coy laugh. "Hot wax, huh? Hmmm."

Auston watches until the end, even as his own come cools uncomfortably on his skin. Through the lazy question and answer portion, William keeps his hand occupied by flipping the glass plug in his hand and rolling it over his fingers. Auston gets a sudden memory of those hands doing the same idle motion using rolls of stick tape.

-

The video's runtime is an hour and a half, and Auston emerges from it like he's breaking through water. He goes to practice the next day with shadows under his eyes, barely able to process when people are talking to him. He sends William yet another Snapchat DM after a rushed lunch out with the guys, even though the answer is stupidly obvious: 

> **Auston**  
September 24  
(1:37 pm) Was that really you?
> 
> **Will**  
(1:44 pm) yeah. it me.

Unable to fight the urge any longer, Auston gives in and calls William as he's driving. After an agonizing interval, William accepts the call, and Auston demands more forcefully than he means to, "Who else knows about this?"

An uncomfortable pause. "Um. My tax attorney?"

"What the fuck, Will?"

"I couldn't turn off the payment function, it's part of the site's design." William says, his tone defensive. "The money's not a lot. I give to charity or invest it back in the equipment."

Auston pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Why did you show me this?" The question has been buzzing around his mind all morning, Auston wracking his brain to figure out the motive for William handing him this beautiful, dangerous thing--a sharpened dagger, a poisoned apple, a career-damaging secret life by a top winger in the NHL.

"I told you I wasn't embarrassed about sex. I'm just trying to prove it," William says flatly. "Besides, it's not like you're gonna tell anyone." 

It's a dare that William flings between them, perfectly calibrated to get under his contrarian ass--is Auston gonna be the one to blow up William's career in one fell swoop?

"Of course not," he says. 

In the two years they've been on the Leafs together, William and Auston have always had an easygoing relationship--the chemistry clicked as soon as their line was formed at training camp, leading to the unreal debut they had together against Ottawa. They've never fought or had any significant misunderstandings since then. This holdout is bringing up surprising dimensions to a relationship that he had previously thought was easy and comfortable, an old sweater that he would put on when he needed to feel settled in his role in Toronto. Lately he's been going about everything so clumsily, bumping against William's hidden edges without meaning to.

Auston licks his lips. "The video, it's from the spring. So you're not doing it anymore?"

"I had too many things on my plate and I was traveling so much through the summer. And uh, well, I just didn't feel like it."

Auston wants to ask why he didn't feel like it, if there was a kiss that has somehow lingered in his mind. Instead he says, "That's a shame."

"Why, you wanna watch?"

William's question carries a familiar tinge of flirtatiousness, but it's also harder. A challenge. Taking his cue from it, Auston lets out a low, slightly mocking laugh. It's like they're both slipping into entirely new roles now, another screen between them. 

"If you don't mind a scouting report, why not?"

-

Auston has watched a lot of porn in his life, men and women in different configurations, but William is blowing everything he's ever seen out of the water.

He's already got three fingers stuffed into his hole, excess lube trickling down the insides of his thighs as he draws them out and pushes them in again. Earlier in the stream, when William was still only two fingers deep, his trembling hand adjusted the camera to get it closer to his crotch. Auston congratulates himself for busting out the laptop as soon as he got home in order to take in all of this, the more vivid details of William's flushed body making his dick jerk in his hands. 

"Fuck, I'm close," William says, and he sets a brutal pace to chase his orgasm. He puts his thumb underneath his balls, causing Auston to seize up at the imagined pressure. 

Auston keeps his grip on himself firm and restrictive, tight against the base of his own dick. He can come as soon as William is done with the stream. He's not missing a single second of this, even if he can't find enough air to breathe.

Underneath the loud, sloppy sounds of William’s fingers fucking into his well-muscled ass, there's the constant pinging sound of the chat collectively melting down. They keep talking about the strength of his core muscles, the sharp hinges where the top of his thighs meets his hips. How good it would feel rubbing off against them. Auston thinks about how they never get to know the best parts, William's face and his eyes and his company. Things that Auston took for granted back when he was still certain they had all the time in the world together, a well-charted path laid out before them.

A cut-off whimper is the only warning before William wraps a hand around his cock and comes, white spray spattering against his stomach in streaks. He goes slightly out of focus as he slumps into the seat. The stream is mostly just a view of his hamstring muscles twitching in the aftermath, his fingers smearing a mixture of sweat, lube, and come against his skin.

"Wow." 

At first Auston thinks it's him who said that out loud, only to realize that it's William addressing his audience. He reaches beyond the frame for a towel and starts to wipe himself off. 

"Just let me catch my breath for a sec then we'll go for round two, yeah?" he murmurs breathily. "Oh, right. Let me read the comments."

William readjusts the camera to show himself at a wider angle as he takes a look at his monitor, one hand cupping his jaw as he wriggles the mouse with the other. Auston wonders if William is trying to find him in the chat logs. He hasn't said anything, even though he was one of the earliest people to log onto the stream. He’s just been watching the easy banter of Willy's fans as they shower him with compliments and try to flirt with him over the internet. Sometimes the different usernames even interact, betraying how familiar they are with each other.

It makes Auston ache with something he can't quite place. Not the sharp pangs of jealousy, exactly, but the feeling that he's being left out of something. 

William has continued interacting with them throughout his performance, deftly answering their questions--everything from his growing facial hair to the ideal workout routine for keeping his quads tight to his noted absence throughout the summer. 

"I sort of had a rough couple of months?" William said earlier in the stream, his tone vague. "Just needed to deal with a lot of stuff."

The comments coming in from the chat now are more benign and rambly. Although based on the kind of questions that the chat has been asking, Auston detects a persona that's not quite the William that he knows in real life. William doesn't stumble when he answers his fans, however, the lies so practiced that they are perfectly true in that moment.

"Okay, I think that's enough, I don't want you guys getting bored."

The chatter picks up again when William reaches for the vibrator that has been resting on the desk like a loaded gun. It's a good size, dark purple with a smooth, slightly matte texture, metallic details surrounding the buttons and the rest of the handle. There are subtle ridges spiraling up its curved shaft, making Auston's mind race just imagining what it would look like--_feel_ like--going inside William.

William kneels on the seat again and his abs flex as he balances himself with one ankle dangling over the armrest. He palms the lube cap open, then with the hand holding the vibrator, he flicks on a button that causes it to rumble. The sound is obnoxious and it makes William laugh as he pours the lube onto the vibrator and runs his hand down its length.

"I forgot how loud this one is." William says. "I should get something that won't make my neighbors complain."

Auston flicks his eyes towards the chatbox and just as he expected, they have a lot of things to say about William's commentary.

> **user193901:** that's gonna sound sooo good fucking into your pink hole  
**exmachina_:** Just make a wishlist on lovehoney or something and let us buy you gifts.  
**backonthegrind:** fk yah… ride dat bad boii  
**exmachina_:** Take pity on your poor lonely fans who want to take care of you. 😳  
**hmmmmkay23:** yes! give us that sweet p.o. box info, baby. i'll buy you all kinds of sex toys  
_$10 tip from exmachina_. Thank you! 💋_  
**user473946:** lightsoutmodels.com/channel/b4bez…  
**scarlett_00_m:** your streams always look so good i wish you'd do it more :(  
**user473946:** lightsoutmodels.com/channel/b4bez…

William's already moving on to a different talking point without reading any of this, however. Turning the gleaming, wet vibrator to its quietest hum, he addresses his audience in a louder, slightly teasing voice, "Oh, I forgot to say hello to our new visitors today. If you're scouting for a new stream to follow, I hope I'm living up to your expectations."

Then he reaches between his thighs and pushes the tip of the toy against his ass. The vibrator catches against the pucker before holding steady, and William cries out as the vibrator slides inside his hole until his rim is kissing the silvery base. He takes a deep breath before bending sideways and bracing against the chair's armrest. He starts to writhe against the silicon toy, its vibrations a constant hum as he thrusts it in and out, faster and faster.

William rides its waves like a champ.

-

After the show, it's William who messages him first, surprising Auston a little. 

> **Will**  
September 25  
(7:20 pm) did you watch?
> 
> **Auston**  
(7:25 pm) Yeah
> 
> **Will**  
(7:32 pm) 🙄 so what did you think? 

_It made me miss you even more._

> **Auston**  
(7:35 pm) I came so much I had to re-hydrate.
> 
> **Will**  
(7:37 pm) good
> 
> **Auston**  
(7:41 pm) That's all you got to say about it?
> 
> **Will**  
(7:44 pm) job well done by me, i guess.

There is so much more that he wants to say, but Auston is a quick study. He knows that the walls have been built high and strong around William again, and even if this is some kind of fairytale, Auston doesn't yet know how to call up to him and get him to let down his hair. So all he types is this:

> **Auston**  
(7:51 pm) I expected nothing less.  
(7:51 pm) Hey, go to sleep, yeah? It must be late on your end.  
(7:52 pm) I'll talk to you tomorrow.

So these are the parameters that William's allowing between them, as long as the holdout continues. Okay. Auston knows how to skate around boxed out spaces. He just needs a gameplan.

He closes the app. For the rest of the night, he bugs Mitch and Freddie and he occupies himself with things that are not six timezones away.

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- The camming website I mentioned here doesn't actually exist, I literally picked out the elements that would best serve the plot.
> 
> \- Thank you to Brooks, Helen, Kit and to so many people who have seen versions of this chapter in every iteration. I got kind of needy there so I really appreciate everyone who didn't like, tune me out by the end.
> 
> \- Catch me on Twitter @ disastrnak (locked, fannish and nsfw). I'm also on Tumblr at sean-moneyhands.


End file.
